


Lessons From a Dead Princess to a Living

by for_t2



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beer, Bonding, Developing Friendships, F/F, Hair Braiding, Monsters, Necromancy, Princes & Princesses, Regret, Young Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_t2/pseuds/for_t2
Summary: You can bring a princess back from the dead, but that doesn't mean you can control her
Relationships: Renfri | Shrike (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44
Collections: Best Geralt





	Lessons From a Dead Princess to a Living

“We’re almost there.”

Ciri was tired. Tired of forests, of snow, of leaves, tired of running. When Mousesack had caught up to her in Brokilon, she almost cried in relief. He had made it out alive, he had a plan, he knew where the famous Witcher was. Soon, she would have a bed again, some decent food, and most of all, she’d have chance at saving Cintra from Nilfgaard. 

“Yes, almost there.” Mousesack repeated, his voice swelling with pride. 

“Will we be going to Skellige?” As tired as she was, Ciri was still a princess, and she had forced herself to try and remember as much of her grandmother’s lessons as she could over the last few days. She knew she had to. “The Queen said once that they would always help.”

“You’ll have to ask the Witcher.” Mousesack chuckled to himself. “But I’m sure he’s something like that in mind.” 

“What else could he be planning?” Her grandmother had said something abut double checking details. Or maybe that was Mousesack. She was supposed to be too young, and Calanthe too strong, too forever, for Ciri to have to be worrying about things like this.

“You’d have to—” 

The sword poked through Mousesack’s back far too quickly for Ciri to get the chance to scream. And when he… when he changed, bones cracking, skin going blue, it felt like Ciri forget to scream under the weight of the shock. 

“Ciri, right?” The assassin, messy uneven hair and deep red shirt under her armour, pulled her sword out of Mousesack. Pulled a pouch from her belt and tossed it at Ciri. “Want some breakfast?” A pouch full of smoked strips of some sort of meat. “Is it even breakfast time here? Breakfast for me, anyway.” 

Ciri couldn’t turn her eyes away from her, didn’t dare look down at Mousesack, at the body. And she still couldn’t bring a scream through her lips. 

“You’re welcome?” 

“You…” A word finally squeaked out of Ciri. “What did you to him?” 

“This guy?” Ciri flinched as the woman poked the body with her sword. “You know he was bringing you right to Nilfgaard, right?” 

“Mousesack wouldn’t—” 

“This guy wasn’t your friend.” The woman interrupted Ciri, jabbing the body again. “Lesson number one, princess: no one’s ever your friend.” Dara chose that moment to move, to take a run at the woman. A run that she knocked down easily. “Now come on, we’ve got to get moving.” 

“You’re not my friend.” Ciri grabbed the first stick she could find. Brought up like a makeshift sword. A hope of the barest minimum of protection. Whoever this woman was, she practically radiated danger, and there wasn’t a chance in hell Ciri would follow her. 

“You learn quick. I like that.” The woman batted away the stick with just as much ease. Brought the tip sword down to Ciri’s neck. “But there’s someone who really wants to meet you, and I don’t really have much of a choice.” 

“Who?” Ciri tried to keep her voice steady, tried to inject a little royal authority into it.

“Lesson number two,” the woman almost did seem genuinely sorry. Almost. “Sorcerers are all shit.” 

“No they…” Ciri stopped at the look the woman threw her. But Mousesack wasn’t shit. “He was a good man.” 

The woman rolled her eyes. “Just start walking. You can bring the elf.” 

Ciri didn’t budge. She wasn’t going to let this woman, this… clearly evil person order her around. The whole point of being royalty is that you give the orders. And with Cintra burning, her royalty, her name, it felt like her royalty, her name, was all Ciri had left. “Who are you?”

The woman smirked. “Call me Renfri.” 

***** 

“I’m serious.” 

“How?”

“She just…” Dara glanced quickly at the woman marching the path ahead of them. “She smells like death.” 

“You know I can hear you two?” Renfri turned around, looking completely bored. She did chuckle when Dara and Ciri jumped, though. “But he’s right.” 

“What do you mean?” Ciri didn’t like the glint in Renfri’s eyes.

“Do you know how many people I’ve killed?” 

Ciri gulped as Renfri stepped dangerously close, towering over her. “How… A lot?” 

“You probably don’t want to know.” Renfri bent down to whisper in Ciri’s ear. “I’m a monster.” 

“You don’t look like a monster.” As scary as she was, she didn’t. At least, Ciri didn’t think she did. She looked like anyone else. A terrifyingly deranged anyone else, but Ciri had read a few of the books in the castle, had listed to countless tales from returning soldiers and visiting mages, and she was pretty sure she’d know a monster when she saw one.

“And you do?” At any other time, Ciri would’ve been offended. “Next lesson: the worst monsters always look the kindest.” 

***** 

Ciri sat very, very still on the hard wood of the tavern bench.

Across the table from her, Renfri finished off the last drops of a tankard of beer. A whole tankard, in one chug. It was… scary. “Oh, fuck.” Renfri sighed happily as she slammed the empty tankard back down on the table. “It’s been way too long.” 

Ciri said nothing. Dara was right when he said this was too dangerous. That it would end up with death. Ciri just wished she could've left with him.

“It’s not going to kill you.” Renfri pointed at the tankard sitting in front of Ciri. The tankard full of beer. “I mean, I’ve had better, but it’s not that terrible.” 

The princess of Cintra, chugging ale in a dirty tavern off the side of some backwards road like some foolish… It would be scandalous. “The Queen wouldn’t—"

“The Queen’s dead.” Renfri smiled sympathetically at the way Ciri flinched. “Lesson number… Whatever number we’re on now: not even a princess can run from death.” 

“I’m not going to let myself be killed.” 

“Good.” Renfri grabbed a second tankard of beer from the barkeeper. Stopped right before she started chugging it. Just stared at the beer bubbling inside.

“It’s going to kill you?” Ciri suggested, maybe a little hopefully. The sooner she could get out of this mess, the better. 

“It…” For the first time since she abducted Ciri, Renfri’s expression turned soft. Lost in a memory. “There was someone I used to care about who could tell you exactly what was in this. Where it was from. Who made it. All that shit.” 

“Okay.” Ciri wasn’t sure what else to say. The topic of beer was not exactly one she was familiar with. Even her grandmother, who liked to indulge every so often (especially after a battle), wouldn’t say… wouldn’t have said much. That stuff was the job of the kingdom’s brewers, not the royalty. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Okay?” The sincerity in Renfri’s voice made Ciri blink.

“It’s not fun losing somebody you love. Not fun losing your life.” 

Renfri was right. Not fun didn’t even begin to describe it, and Ciri guessed that she knew exactly what it felt like. “I’m sorry.” 

Renfri chuckled. Looked up from her tankard with the coldest glare Ciri had ever seen. “You want the real lesson? When someone destroys everything you have, you don’t stop. You hunt them down. You kill them. Painfully.” 

Maybe she was right when she said-- 

“Show them what a monster really is.” 

***** 

It didn’t hurt. 

It was weird. Seeing your own flesh rotted to the bone is supposed to hurt, but it didn’t. Not even when Renfri poked at it. Then again, Renfri had been resistant to magic for a long time, and no matter how dark and ancient the spells used on her, it wasn’t surprising that it was wearing off already. Even if her mission wasn’t-- 

She jumped as the door to the tavern room swung open. Rolled her sleeve back down quickly before the kid could get a look at it. “You didn’t run?” 

“I’m tired,” Ciri replied, flopping down on the bed. 

“I’m going to wake you up early.” The sooner she could get this over with, the better. “We’re almost there.” 

“If anyone says that to me again, I’m going to scream.” 

“Please don’t.” Renfri chuckled at the petulant, royal tone in Ciri’s voice, but she really didn’t want her to scream. She knew exactly how powerful Ciri was, and it’s not something she wanted to test, even in her current state. 

“I mean it.” 

“I’m sure you do.” Renfri sat down on the bed next to her. Absent-mindedly grabbed a handful of Ciri’s hair and started braiding it.

“What are you doing?” 

“My mother used to do this with me.” A long time ago. A long, long time ago. “Every night. When she wasn’t busy with the affairs of the kingdom.” 

“You’re a princess?” 

“Was.” It was wrong, the way she was twisting the hair around itself. It wasn’t supposed to end up this knotty. “Until my mother was killed, my stepmother tried to kill me, and then I killed her.” 

“Why would she try to kill you?” 

“Fuck!” Renfri swore under her breath, giving up her failed attempt to braid Ciri’s hair, leaving it in a worse state then before she started playing with it. “Simple.” Even if it was a long time ago, it never stopped burning fresh. “I’m a monster.” 

For a few moments, Ciri said nothing. Just fiddled with her hair to undo Renfri’s mess. “Tell me about him.” Ciri continued in response to Renfri’s silence. “The person you cared about. Monsters don’t fall in love, right?” 

“The person I cared about…” Monsters do, and Ciri should know that. “She was a bandit. Just like me. She was brave, strong, kind.” Everything Renfri wasn’t. Everything a monster couldn’t be. “She was beautiful.” 

“What happened to her?” 

“I had things to do.” Revenge. Slaughter and blood, and everything Renfri was so, so good at. “Things she didn’t need to see.” 

“What was her name?” 

Renfri almost said it. It had been a long time she said it. Since she could say it. But instead, she just pushed Ciri over. “Go to sleep.” 

***** 

Renfri wasn’t sure why they had chosen her. 

In a way, she was flattered – that her reputation, tales of her skills, had passed down through the decades. And in a way, it made sense – if you want a girl delivered to you, when the whole world’s chasing after her, you hire the best, no matter how long they’ve been dead for. 

But that’s exactly what scared Renfri so much. If someone was powerful enough to master necromancy, to bring her back and bind her to the realm of living once more, and they wanted Ciri, then the kid must have power beyond that. Beyond what Renfri thinks she could imagine. 

It’s a shame it had to happen to a good kid. Renfri wasn’t sure if she had ever been a good kid, even before Stregobor, but Ciri was, and Renfri would appreciate it if nothing bad happened to her. 

But Renfri was resistant to magic. 

She felt her tissues drifting away from each other, the dust creeping back through her, as she stood watch outside the tavern room. When the kid woke up, she’d be alone again, with only Renfri’s dagger left behind. One final lesson: survive. It wouldn’t be long before someone else was sent after her, before… 

This was too good. 

It was perfect, in fact. The chance to get revenge against the people who raised from the dead, who tore her out of the afterlife. Because there was always one person she could count on to show up at just the right time. To do the right thing. 

She needed to get his attention. So she grabbed the first thing she saw, some trashy vase, and tossed it right at his head. 

“Witcher!”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, you should absolutely check out [this wonderful art by MaskoftheRay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25097722/chapters/60947278) based on the fic!


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